


Am I Not The King

by spittingfeathers



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No One Ring, Bilbo Is Awesome, Cultural Differences, Dis is scary, Gold Sickness, M/M, Pining, Protective Hobbits, Slow Burn, hair is far more important to dwarves than you think bilbo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-07 03:19:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3159302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spittingfeathers/pseuds/spittingfeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“How dare you undermine me, you cannot just give it to the Lake men, I forbid it!” Bilbo did his best to look unbothered which just made Thorin angrier. “Am I not the King?” he snarls and Bilbo prays to Yavanna for strength at what he is about to do next.</p><p>“No you’re not.”</p><p>Even the air seemed to still at Bilbo’s words.</p><p>“What did you say?” Thorin asks lowly, eyes darker than they’ve ever been, expression twisted with malice though he has never looked at Bilbo that way before, certainly not recently. A part of Bilbo mourns silently for the potential those looks had held.</p><p>“You’re not the king,” Bilbo straightens his shoulders and reaches his hand down into the pocket where the proof is stored, pulling out the brilliant gem and holding it out for all to see. ”…I am.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Arkenstone

**Author's Note:**

> This was also meant to be a one-shot and to go into the 'The Times In Between' work (which can be found on my profile). Of course, like most of my one-shot attempts it turned into this beast. I hope you like it :)

The wind was cold and sharp against Bilbo’s cheeks. The clothes the lake men had given him upon their departure were large but terribly impractical and definitely not warm enough to weather the coming storm and a freezing Erebor. Even with the forges lit it would take a while for the heat to filter through the mountain, and Mahal only knew how many vents were broken over the years because of Smaug.

Bilbo wished that they were simply out in the cold to admire the view, take in the desolate landscape and imagine it green and growing with the Dwarves of Erebor finally coming home. But it wasn’t like that. Instead of the empty plains of Smaug’s desolation, there stood an army of men and elves just waiting for the signal to attack—Thorin being sick and refusing to pay them even a single coin.

Bard is there, at the bottom, looking up at them all seeming both angry and sad at the same time. “Will you have peace or war?” he yells desperately.

Thorin only sneers down at the man, gold crown sitting heavily upon his brow and yells back, “I will have war!”

Even though there are only fourteen of them against hundreds of men and elves.

Even though there are both young and old currently taking shelter at the shore of the Long Lake and the ruins of Dale.

Even though they are injured, cold, starving with neither a penny nor a blanket between them.

 _Dain is coming,_ Thorin had reminded Bilbo this morning as though that would be the solution to their problems.

_Yes, of course, let Dain come and be slaughtered by the men and elves too. Blood and bone is a good earthy fertiliser after all._

The company shift uneasily around Thorin, though they too are agitated by the armed host waiting at their doors, they seem a bit more coherent than his Majesty who had spent the last three days with little food, drink or sleep, searching for the Arkenstone and—oh.

This really was going horribly, horribly wrong.

He taps his hand against the bulge beneath his coat and leans out to find Bard is already turning away.

“WAIT!”

Every eye turns to him and Bard stops his return to Dale, looking up at Bilbo.

“ _Wait_ —Bard! There is no need for war, you’ll be given what you need, from my share—I gave my word if you’ll remember, I am not so likely to forget. Return in the morning and I shall have the first instalments ready for collection.“

No one speaks. No one moves. And then Bard nods, eyes stern as if daring them to go back on their words—cheat him tomorrow, and his eyes promise death.

As soon as Bard is out of earshot Thorin rounds on Bilbo who stands firm against Thorin’s anger, the Company hovering at the edges and watching with expressions that ranged from stunned to fear to anger.

“ _How dare you undermine me_ , you cannot just give it to the Lake men, I forbid it!” Bilbo did his best to look unbothered which just made Thorin angrier. “Am I not the King?” he snarls and Bilbo prays to Yavanna for strength at what he is about to do next.

“No you’re not.”

Even the air seemed to still at Bilbo’s words.

“What did you say?” Thorin asks lowly, eyes darker than they’ve ever been, expression twisted with malice though he has never looked at Bilbo that way before, certainly not recently. A part of Bilbo mourns silently for the potential those looks had held.

“You’re not the king,” Bilbo straightens his shoulders and reaches his hand down into the pocket where the proof is stored, pulling out the brilliant gem and holding it out for all to see. ”…I am.”

They barely seem able to draw their eyes away from the stone in his hand, so big he cannot get his fingers all the way around it. Bilbo hopes desperately that this will work.

From what little he’s managed to glean from the Dwarves, as secretive as they are about their language, culture and customs, he’s discovered that the Dwarves hold the Arkenstone with as high a regard as is possible - more than any gift or gem their maker has bestowed upon them. “There was a reason I was the first to find it.” Bilbo says, and with effort, the company each pull their gazes away from the stone. “Amongst all that treasure—halls and halls of the stuff, so deep that you can barely see where the floor once was and I bet had I been standing on the bottom it would have covered me ten, if not fifty times over!” his skin turns clammy and he grips the shining gem in his hand tighter lest it slip from his grip. If it had _wouldn’t that be wonderful_. This stone is the only chance to save his friends from doing something stupid and fulfil his promise to the Lakemen who really had lost everything to the dragon—Laketown still burned on in the distance, black smoke rising up against the grey sky. “It’s a sign, for now, that I should be the one to have claim over the Arkenstone.”

Thorin’s eye twitches as he stares at Bilbo though his anger seems to falter for a moment, mixing with a heavy dose of confusion. As he continues to talk he watches their faces. Fili, Kili and Ori are the most clear headed of the lot with the rest of the company’s faces starting to gain clarity and understanding.

“Until this conflict is resolved I will be Regent until comes a time when his majesty is fit to return to the throne—“

“I am fit!” Thorin bursts out indignantly and the look on his face seems to shift and change as though he’s fighting against himself. The gold-sickness seems to be fading at least a little, but Bilbo cannot risk it.

“…And as you all know I am obviously the least skilled at fighting, so you’d best not start any wars please—terrible business of course—make you late for dinner! You might not even get to _eat_ dinner, huh!”

 _And wouldn’t that be a tragedy_ , Bilbo thinks to himself. His empty stomach rumbles in agreement.

Bilbo is surprised and incredibly relieved to find that the Dwarves follow his orders, though warily as though he will command each of them to walk to their deaths—perhaps go to kiss an elf (not that Kili would mind, he thinks). Honestly, he is only doing this for their benefit! Being a Hobbit means he has considerable skills in all that pertains to negotiating, being the grandson of Old Took and head of the Baggins Family were not just titles! They came with responsibilities, duties, skills and politeness, mediating disputes and soothing frayed tempers and threats about recipes and doilies and…well, suffice to say he is better equipped than they believe him to be. It is only a matter of trading recipes and doilies for gold and gems, and what is the difference, truly?

Bilbo asks Bombur to make dinner, while the rest of the company split up into groups to begin preparing sleeping quarters, finding chests or suitable crates or cases for Bards first payment on the morrow. Thorin tries to go with the last group but Bilbo snags the arm of Thorin’s coat and pulls him back.

“Not you. You’re coming with me.”

It takes some time and quite a lot of coaxing to get Thorin down to the baths, which thank the Valar, have not been damaged at all since Smaug took over the mountain, and as the forges have recently been re-lit, the water is nice and hot.

“Strip.”

Thorin’s eyes are wide—and much clearer now they’re further away from the treasure halls. “Me?” he says, confused.

Bilbo rolls his eyes at the Dwarven King ( _ex-king for now,_ he reminds himself) “Yes you! There’s no one else in here. You haven’t had a bath since Laketown and I’ve grown tired of your stench…”

“My stench!”

Bilbo watches carefully the offended look in his eyes, a little clearer. Each moment, it’s just a little bit clearer. “Yes. Now get in.”

Bilbo isn’t affected at all as Thorin removes his dirty clothes revealing a strong muscled back and the rippling muscles of his arms. Bilbo does not have to take quiet steadying breaths as Thorin removes his boots and breeches revealing adorable tiny feet and strong thighs.

“Are you just going to stand there and watch?” Thorin frowns over his shoulder, the light is dim in the room and the lone torch casts a warm orange glow over everything, obscuring the blush that settles on Bilbo’s cheeks.

“Yes.” Bilbo says, fighting to not let his voice show how he’s affected, because how can anyone not be affected by the sight of Thorin Oakenshield stripping down to take a bath? Well, yes, he’s dirty and much hairier than a Hobbit would ever be, but Bilbo’s found recently ( _make that ever since Thorin Oakenshield walked through his front door_ ) he doesn’t mind at all. It’s just a shame that Thorin would never consider someone like him. Their leader may even have a dwarf back in Ered Luin waiting for him.

“I suggest you get in and start washing, Thorin,” Bilbo says as he throws the Dwarf a bar of soap and washcloth. “Unless you’d prefer me to do it for you of course?”

Hobbits have surprisingly good eyesight so when he sees Thorin’s eyes widen in the dim light and how quickly he turns to get in the water Bilbo allows himself a smile and begins to remove his own clothes. He slips into the hot water with a breathy sigh.

A bit of flirting never hurt anyone after all.

*****

Bilbo’s done his best with what they have, making sure his Dwarrow are fed, have a comfortable place to sleep, and their King is distracted in a way that will promote healing from the Gold-sickness. He’s not a healer of course, but he’ll do his best. Not that Gandalf or Lord Elrond had come up with any solutions.

Thorin looks better already - they all do - and so when Bilbo returns to camp he tells the rest of them to eat, take a bath and then retire for the night they do so without grumbling, but nod and do as they’re told. Bilbo pats his pocket unobtrusively just to check it’s still there - it is - and if he did not need it he would chuck it down the deepest darkest mineshaft and say _good riddance_.

They all pair up into the cleaned rooms, and as it turns out Bilbo and Thorin are alone together again, unceremoniously guided into the last room by Fili and Kili. _It’s a little odd_ , Bilbo thinks, _that they would not want to share with their uncle_ , but he casts the thought quickly from his mind. He has more pressing matters to attend to— _Thorin_. Or more precisely the way he’s staring at the bed as though it will bite him.

Bilbo is obviously unbothered by sharing a bed but apparently Thorin is. They’ve seen each other in less clothes - _naked just a few hours ago when bathing_ \- and perhaps Bilbo should be offended but he honestly can’t be bothered to care.

“Go on Thorin, get in.” Bilbo says, pulling back the furs, all a little dusty but perfectly serviceable.

Thorin seems to stiffen at Bilbo’s words, his shoulders tensing and his blue eyes are like ice as they look at him. “Are you going to be ordering me to do anything else tonight _your highness_.”

Thorin says tightly. Bilbo frowns at him. “Nothing you don’t want to do.” he says slowly, wondering whether he heard Thorin right or the insinuation is just a trick of his worried mind.

“I did not want to give up being King but _you made me_.”

Bilbo sighs and moves around to the other side of the bed where Thorin waits in tunic and breeches, standing just in front of him, eyebrow raised.

“It’s not a bad thing to accept help Thorin. It doesn’t make you weak or lesser in the eyes of our companions. I could have been a little better about the way I presented the idea I’ll admit but—“

Thorin’s eyes darken and Bilbo panics - he’s losing him! “Don’t lie to me! You just wanted to be king—I should have known you were a liar from the start. Someone from another race would never want to help us without it being a benefit to themselves!”

Thorin breathes heavily, as though he has just run a race, nostrils flaring in anger like a furious bull... _and just as strong_.

He will have to tread carefully now…

“We don’t have Kings in the Shire.” Bilbo says moving forward slowly, reaching out gently to place his hands on Thorin’s muscled upper arms as though he was a deer or skittish colt about to bolt. “Family is the single most important thing in the Shire, or anywhere there is a Hobbit really. We don’t forget about our duties as soon as we leave the Shire, as rare as that may be.” he lets his hands start to move, gently up and down Thorin’s arms in a comforting manner Bilbo remembers from his childhood. “I suppose I’d be a Lord or perhaps even Royalty if we did have such a thing in the Shire. My Grandfather is the Thain. My mother his daughter, and I her son.”

“Which makes you a Prince…” Thorin adds quietly.

“Perhaps. But I’m not a Prince, not really. I’m a Gentle hobbit, which means I look after my tenants and those in my employ. As head of the Baggins family I help sort out disputes and lend a hand to those who need it.” He lets his hands squeeze the tops of Thorin’s shoulders quickly before they continue on. “I would be a terrible person if I let anything befall my family if I could have stopped it.”

He sees Thorin’s brows pull together, the darkness receding to be slowly replaced with confusion. “Yes, you heard me correctly.” Bilbo murmurs, speaking softer so Thorin has to concentrate a little more on what he’s saying. Draw him away from his own thoughts to focus on Bilbo. Focus on the words. On the meaning. “You’re all a part of my family now. It’s my job to look after you all.”

“You would claim us as kin?” Thorin says quietly, his low voice is almost nothing but a rumble and Bilbo smiles.

“I’ve done so already. I’m afraid you’re all quite stuck with me.” He can’t quite help himself from reaching one hand up to cup Thorin’s bearded cheek, thumb lightly smoothing back and forward. Bilbo’s other hand is still moving up and down Thorin’s arm and his smile gets a little bit wider when Thorin draws in a startled gasp, but then slowly starts to relax. Hobbits are tactile creatures and it comes naturally to offer comfort this way, though Bilbo wonders if Dwarves are the same. They crack their foreheads together in greeting and often give each other hearty slaps and fierce hugs (of which Bilbo had been the recipient of on the Carrock). However, the small intake of breath Thorin makes when Bilbo’s hand cups his cheek says otherwise. Perhaps it is because of Thorin’s status as king that makes others less able to touch and comfort him? Or maybe it is something he has grown apart from, trying to hold the weight of the Dwarves on his shoulders for so long, believing he has to do it on his own.

Bilbo steps a little closer, suddenly aware of the chill in the room and how Thorin’s body seems to radiate heat. “Let me help you.” He doesn’t blink or turn his eyes away. He looks Thorin dead in the eyes, his hand still stroking up and down his arm and his thumb still gently moves over his cheek. For the first time, Thorin doesn’t look like their strong, fearless leader. He seems vulnerable, tired and perhaps even a little scared. “Let me in Thorin.”

Thorin watches him and just as Bilbo’s eyes are starting to burn, he nods.


	2. Take Care of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin blushes and Bilbo gets to cuddle some hot dwarf for the night...

Thorin lay stiffly on the mattress, his back to Bilbo and tangled hair splayed about haphazardly on the pillows. Bilbo couldn’t help but sigh inwardly, his eyes rolling skyward as he gets carefully out of the bed and starts shuffling about the room, peeking in draws, chests and cabinets that are placed against the walls. He apologises silently for rifling through the belongings of whomever owned this room before the dragon.

It’s not long before he hears the mattress shift behind him. “What are you doing?” Thorin asks warily.

Bilbo spares him a look over his shoulder. “I’m looking for—ha! Got it! I knew there’d be one here somewhere” he turns back to Thorin, grinning triumphantly and waves the silver comb in the air like a trophy or treasured recipe he’s finally finished. He barely notices Thorin’s wide eyes and flushed cheeks as he scrambles back onto the bed and folds his legs. Thorn cautiously sits up, eying the comb intensely.

“Oh!” Bilbo says, suddenly remembering that hair was important to Dwarves. He remembers how Thorin would often brush his hair in the morning and before bed when they travelled, though this was often when he thought everyone was asleep. There was something calming to him in the way Thorin combed and braided his hair. It would of course be quite rude not to ask permission and simply assume…

“Thorin,” he says seriously, “would you allow me the honour of combing your hair.”

It is difficult not to shift about on the bed with the way Thorin’s stare is so intense and Bilbo fights not to run the comb through his own hair first - though clean, he must look a fright.

“You wish to comb my hair?” Thorin asks slowly, looking unsure.

“Yes.” Bilbo nods, he’s rather tired too and as soon as they get this finished the sooner they can go to sleep. The bed is lovely and soft beneath them and it’s calling his name. “I’ll be gentle I promise.” he adds.

Had Bilbo known the significance of brushing or braiding hair between dwarves, perhaps he never would have asked. But perhaps, with some blushing, he would.

Eventually Thorin nods, and in the dim light Bilbo cannot see how Thorin’s cheeks have turned a deep shade of pink.

The comb is sturdily made, decorated with the usual geometric shapes the Dwarves are so fond of and brushes easily through the knots and tangles in Thorin’s hair. Bilbo works at combing the ends of Thorin’s hair before he works upwards. He silently praises himself as Thorin relaxes beneath his hands, shoulders slumping and head tipping back as the teeth of the comb run against his scalp.

By the time Bilbo’s finished, Thorin’s almost purring like one of the tomcats Mistress Proudfoot used to keep. The rumbling hum comes from deep in his chest and Bilbo cannot contain the rush of affection and overwhelming need to protect his Dwarves. _Because they are his. Every. Single. One._ And he’ll be damned if Gold sickness or the Arkenstone will get in the way of keeping them safe. _And those men and elves!_ He thinks _, They certainly need a stern talking to—coming here with an army at their backs as though they were to loot the place over their ashes had the dragon succeeded in killing them…_

 _Dwarves aren’t as greedy as everyone says they are,_ Bilbo thinks to himself, remembering the fierce love they hold for their friends and families, the passion they speak with when they talk of home and hearth and feasting. They only want to belong — have a home and to be safe. Who could ask for anything more really?

Carefully, Bilbo scoops up Thorin’s long dark hair in his hands and ties it with a leather cord into a neat tail at the back of his head and taps Thorin’s shoulder in silent order to turn around.

Looking at Thorin, who is of course, looking at him — again with the rather intense expression on his face — Bilbo can’t help but smile at the Dwarf, thinking that Thorin’s hair suits him like this. He carefully removes the clasps to Thorin’s braids and places them in one of Thorin’s hands until he needs them again. Gently, as promised, Bilbo removes the braids and brushes through the strands with the silver comb before beginning to make the neat braids up again, adding the beads finally at their proper place.

“There, all done,” Bilbo murmurs when he’s finished. He can’t quite resist brushing his fingers against the side of Thorin’s jaw and through the soft hairs of his beard as he pulls away. Thorin’s eyes close ever so slightly at the movement and Bilbo takes an unsteady breath.

The moment is broken when Bilbo pulls his hand away to cover his jaw breaking yawn. “Sorry,” Bilbo says “it's best we get some sleep, we’ve a big day ahead tomorrow.”

“Not yet.” Thorin says and Bilbo raises an eyebrow as though he’s preparing a scolding for an unruly faunt, Thorin just stares straight back. “It’s your turn. If you will allow me, I should like to comb your hair.”

Bilbo’s hair is short but very curly and probably hopelessly tangled. He’s about to object when the corner of Thorin’s lip twitches upward, teasing, and says, looking the more like Thorin Oakenshield than he has done since Beorn’s. “I will be gentle.”

How could he resist?

“Alright then,” he huffs a laugh and turns around so his back is facing Thorin.

 _It’s progress, it proves what I’m doing is working,_ Bilbo tells himself as he feels Thorin shuffle closer. Clearly it’s not because he wants to feel Thorin’s hands in his hair or grazing the back of his neck. At all. Perhaps he should suggest a massage next time? _Oh dear_.

Bilbo thinks of terrible, awful things in quick succession to bleach (and potentially scar) his mind and soothe his quickening pulse. Gandalf naked…with Radaghast. Lobelia stealing his spoons and moving into Bag End. His parents giving him the talk and his mother asking _questions_ about Dwarves while his father embarrasses him with seemingly innocent statements but where the innuendo is unmistakable…there.

In short, when he’s pushed the rest of his thoughts aside and simply relaxes, it is lovely to have his hair brushed by another, similar to how his father used to do it when he was a faunt. They’d always have a small pile of twigs and leaves at the end, each of which his father would sigh and tut over as he removed them.

Bilbo leans back into the comb with a sigh, sad that all too soon it’s over, Thorin’s voice strangely rough as he tells Bilbo that he’s done.

“Hmm, time for bed then,” Bilbo murmurs and scoots underneath the furs. The fire has burned down to a low glow and the torch is almost out so Bilbo can just see the outlines of Thorin’s face and shadows of furniture as the light fades. Thorin begins to turn over to face away from him—

“Ah—if you wouldn’t mind, Thorin. I’m afraid I’m quite cold…” he looks sheepishly at the Dwarf and shuffles closer to him, watching his face carefully for any sign of discomfort or that his movement would be unwelcome. Thankfully he sees none and so he snuggles up to Thorin’s chest, slipping one arm over Thorin’s waist and tucks his head beneath his chin.

“Is this alright?” he asks quietly, for once noticing the stillness of the room and his heart beating all too quickly in his chest.

It’s a few moments before Thorin’s reply comes, an equally soft “yes”, and his arm slowly reaches over to place his hand comfortably on Bilbo’s rounded hip.

He sighs contentedly into Thorin’s warm chest feeling that all will be better in the morning.

**********

Bilbo wakes after having the best nights sleep he’s ever had, tucked up warm and comfortable in strong arms, and that’s counting the time they’d spent at Rivendell. There’s something to be said for sleeping wrapped in the arms of another. The warmth and closeness is something he will sorely miss when Thorin is back on his feet again. Perhaps, if Thorin _does_ have a Dwarf waiting back in Ered Luin for him, then the lad or lass won’t rip off all of his limbs for sleeping so close to their partner. Of course it was to help Thorin but he knows the possessiveness of Dwarves, and simply wishes that he be allowed to keep his right arm as it’s his writing hand.

In the morning he takes his time returning to full wakefulness, humming and sighing and stretching a little. He wiggles his warm toes against a pair of hairy legs and can’t quite help the giggle that escapes him when they jerk back. Eventually, he concedes that he can’t stay in bed all day - as much as he’d like to - there is work to be done. In the strange time of the mountain Bilbo doesn’t know what time it is. He hopes it’s not too late…

He opens his eyes to find Thorin watching him curiously. Bilbo doesn’t startle or jump or anything embarrassing like that, simply smiles and smooths a hand up Thorin’s arm to his shoulder and asks if he's alright. Making sure Thorin is okay is his top priority at the moment.

“I am…well.” Thorn states eventually. It’s true, he _does_ look better. The dark circles beneath his eyes have receded just a touch and they’re clearer too. Not completely, but Bilbo can see more of Thorin’s usual self there, and that’s a good place as any to start.

“Good,” Bilbo smiles, subtly easing his hips away and hoping Thorin won’t notice his _condition_ though it's been a terribly long time since he's been able to sort that out with anything other than a cold dip in a river.

“Now, I think it’s best we get up and have some breakfast, don’t you? Goodness knows what the time is—“

“Just past seven.”

“How did you—?” Thorin sits up, untangling himself from the furs as Bilbo sits up against the headboard. Thorin stretches to pick up the tray, lifting it easily to place atop Bilbo’s lap “Fili and Kili brought us breakfast this morning. They did not want to wake you.”

Bilbo looks down at the breakfast with wide eyes, his _condition_ quickly forgotten in the wake of the heavenly sight on the tray in front of him. There’s fresh eggs, a few rashers of bacon and porridge even a cup of tea. “How on earth?” he murmurs, looking awed at the food in front of him as his stomach groans ravenously. “And you, Thorin?” Bilbo manages to tear his eyes away from his plate to look at Thorin who definitely needs to eat more than he does.

“I’ve had mine already.” he points to the other empty tray on the cabinet beside the bed seeming amused at the hungry look on Bilbo’s face. “Eat.”

“I’m supposed to be looking after you,” Bilbo grumbles, though he’s honestly not complaining. The bacon is delicious, crispy and the egg yolk is bright and runny. There’s even a dash of honey in his porridge! He wonders where they got it all from, the last he knew was that the only food they had left was cram. Bilbo decides he’ll investigate this later…

“Something funny, Master Dwarf?” Bilbo says as he carefully puts the tray to the side of the bed, feeling much better now his stomach is satisfied, ready to face the challenges that lay ahead.

“Not at all, Your Grace.” Thorin says. Bilbo can feel himself becoming flustered under Thorin’s stare and well, that just won’t do.

“Right!” Bilbo says, throwing off the covers he rummages through his pack to collect his clothes for the day and hurriedly gets dressed. He looks over his shoulder to see Thorin watching him. “What are you doing still sitting there? Up—come on, we’ve lots to do and I should very much like to know where the others managed to find that bacon…”

**********

It’s been a long morning. Terribly, _terribly_ long. Thranduil has made an appearance, yet again mentioning ‘ _gems like starlight_ ’ and Bilbo wishes he’d simply go back to Mirkwood and stop being such a pain in his behind! He’d made sure Thorin had waited with Fili and Kili back inside after the first five minutes when he saw Thorin’s eyes darkening at the sight of the haughty elf. Thorin had been reluctant to leave (an understatement) and had ordered Dwalin, Balin and Bifur to wait with Bilbo through the proceedings, each of them clearly armed to the teeth. Bilbo had just rolled his eyes.

Bard of course was pleased that Bilbo has indeed fulfilled his promise, understandably still wary of the Dwarves, especially Dwalin who glared at Bard fiercely until Bilbo had told him to stop.

“You’re not helping in the slightest, Dwalin and if you can’t keep that awful scowl off your face I’ll be sending you inside—no buts, now I know a smile is out of the question so perhaps give us your neutral face and we can move on with proceedings…”

The next stage of negotiations goes well though Bard seems to be a bit dazed at the gold Bilbo had been willing to trade for further bacon. “While we have supplies enough to last us, more would be appreciated. Now that our journey is over I wish to eat as little Cram as possible for the rest of my life.” The final chest of gold and gems is exchanged, Bard looking more than relieved and Bilbo smiles. Finally he can get back to the mountain and out of this frigid cold—his Dwarves can’t be left alone for too long. Bilbo smiles and shakes hands with Bard, pleased that the Master and Alfrid had made themselves scarce since Smaug had left for Laketown. “I’m pleased we could sort out our differences without bloodshed—“ he says, though when he hears the thunder of hooves on the ground he feels a weary sigh build in his throat. _Spoke too soon_.

An elven rider makes her way toward them at speed, her horse kicking up dust and cracked dry earth when she stops.

“My Lords, King Thranduil bids me tell you that our scouts have found something - merely a week away - an orc and goblin army marches toward us.”

“How many?”

“Thousands, perhaps fifteen at least.”

“Why?” Bilbo whines quietly, “why now?” Though his question had been rhetorical - of course he knows why - the elf answers him anyway.

“It is our belief that they intend to take the mountain now that the dragon is gone.”

He can’t help it and feels himself grow angry. “Of course!” he scowls, “No one can leave well enough alone! Well, I’ll just have to give them a piece of my mind—“

“NO!”

Bilbo looks at Dwalin who now looks horrified instead of angry and sighs, “Not on my own Dwalin, they’d have me for breakfast. One Hobbit against fifteen thousand Orcs and whatnot? No, I’m afraid we’ll have to call Thranduil and send a message to Dain to hurry up, I’m afraid there’s going to be a battle after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This and my other fics will be updated when I have time (lol so much work due for the 20th of feb!) but I thought I'd leave this chapter with you to help bridge the gap between updates!


	3. Negotiations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm drowning in work but here's another chapter to a fic I haven't updated in an age as an apology. Hopefully I'll get some more time to write soon!  
> un-beta'd all mistakes are mine.

Tauriel cannot quite help the awe she feels with the way Bilbo Baggins handles them all. 

It’s quick, efficient and with just the right amount of flattery that by the end of it, Thranduil, Bard and Dain are all convinced that working together - splitting their warriors into mixed groups - is their own idea.  It really is the best chance they have of defeating the Orc and Goblin armies approaching, but still, without Bilbo there it is likely that her King would have marched them all back into Mirkwood and let Erebor be overtaken.

Bilbo had promised him the gems he wanted, the necklace too, and made several very good points about being surrounded by Goblins and Orcs if the elves didn’t stand with them. Of course Bilbo also mentioned alliances and being _stronger together_ along with _further trade and prosperity_ …well the Hobbit had a gift for persuasion that was sure. Even Tauriel felt her soul lift when he spoke of forcing back the darkness that had overtaken their lands…

“Good isn’t he?” Kili murmured. 

Tauriel hadn’t even realised he was beside her and it took all her training to not jerk at his sudden appearance like a newly born fawn.  “He is quite adept at negotiation.” Tauriel agreed quietly. She cast a look over at her king, wondering whether she was allowed to speak with Kili now they were no longer considered enemies - or escaped prisoners. He was quiet, taller than most of his friends and…if she only admitted it to herself, rather handsome for a dwarf. Tauriel realised she’d been staring and looked sharply away so she wouldn’t embarass herself. Luckily, she was much better at concealing her thoughts than Kili was who looked at her as though she was…well she never thought anyone would ever look at her like _that_. 

She felt Kili’s gaze move from her to where Bilbo was currently in discussion with King Thranduil, King Bard (as much as he hated the title, she had to use it) and Lord Dain of the Iron Hills. Bilbo was directing the discussion with ease, using subtle hints and flattery to ease tensions and keep the leader’s focus solely on battle plans. It was the most civil encounter Tauriel had ever seen between Elves, Dwarves and Men - and all because of a Hobbit! She’d never met a Hobbit before, but perhaps that was a mistake. She wondered if Hobbits had ever had a serious conflict with another race? 

“I think Uncle chose well.” Kili said quietly by her side. There was a great deal of fondness in his voice.

Realisation came to her quickly. “Oh! You mean they’re—“

“Yes. I think so.” He hummed. “See that braid in his hair? The pattern means he’s a warrior, the placement means he’s of a high rank and the bead…courting my Uncle, and therefore under his protection.” Kili looked up at her with a grin, “probably shouldn’t have told you that. Dwarves keep their traditions a secret from all but family or those they’re courting.”

Of course it took a little while for it to sink in but the moment Tauriel realised what Kili had said and turned to call him out on it, he was gone.

*****

Bilbo directs Dwalin and Dori to put the barrels down in the main hall and hand out the items stored. Fili and Kili join them with the remaining packs and supplies though they wrinkle their noses when they see Cram again. Bilbo supposed he has spoiled them all with the supplies he’d bought from the Men and Elves. Not that he would have done otherwise. They all deserved something other than cram after the trials they’d faced. It was not extravagant fare by any means, but it would do until further supplies arrived from the Blue Mountains and Rivendell after this goblin business was sorted out. Balin had happily sent a letter with two helpful ravens to spread the news that the dragon was dead, and to ask for aid. Bilbo would have been tempted to chuck all the cram they have over one of the sheer drops that Erebor boasted but it would need to be cleared up eventually and they could not afford to waste food, even when it seemed like they were over the worst of it. 

What was with Dwarves and their love of deep dark pits and no railings? 

Bilbo pries the lid off several barrels, inspecting their contents before he sees a familiar gleam of steel and plucks it, sheathe and all, from the barrel. It’s larger than Sting, and heavier, but he knows the sight of Orcrist would do Thorin a world of good. The sword had served them well in their travels. Turning on his heel to head over to where Thorin waited by a large carved pillar, Bilbo put a cheery smile on his face in counter to the scowl that had darkened Thorin’s brow and coughed so the Dwarf would notice him approach. Surprising Thorin was not something you did - unless you wanted a punch to the throat.

Thorin straightens when he notices Bilbo approaching. He had been wary at first of interacting with the company again, seemingly unsure of how he should act and what he had permission to do, but Bilbo was working on that.

“Here we are…” Bilbo hands Orcrist to Thorin with a smile. “My gift to you, or, step one of Thranduil’s apology for our stay in his dungeons.” It had been easy enough to inquire as to the lost possessions of the Company from their stay in Mirkwood and Thranduil’s offer to look for them. Bilbo allowed him to infer that they had been lost when attacked by spiders, rather than calling him out that they had been confiscated while they were prisoners - and probably starting another war which would end with Dain roaring and trying to cave Thranduil’s head in with his war hammer…

Bilbo takes in the slight flush on Thorin’s cheeks with amusement, rubbing his chest in an attempt to soothe the quickened pace of his heart. Thorin was surprisingly adorable when he did that.

“I hadn’t thought to see it again.” He looks up, aware of the others who are reuniting with their keepsakes and confiscated weapons. “You have done much for us Bi—Your Grace. Forgive me.” Thorin attaches the sword to his hip and it looks good there. Familiar. All he needs now is some more reasonable armour, none of that golden plated nonsense, and he would look the part.

They have a few days yet before the Orcs and Goblins arrive at their doorstep and Dain is likely to want to see—

“Thorin!” 

Ah, of course Bilbo had spoke too soon. He would have wanted to be absent for this meeting if he could, let the cousins catch up, but he needs to make sure that Thorin is still alright.

“Dain—thank you for coming.” Thorin’s voice is solemn but the small smile that appears when he and Dain crack their skulls together both baffles and warms Bilbo. It’s good to see Thorin smile. He’s tried to create a routine for Thorin, talking him out of his thoughts whenever he looks to be getting in too deeply and making sure they are doing something productive to keep the gold sickness at bay. Thorin is strong so carrying things from room to room and helping clear the rubble, as well as fix the door (as much as can be expected after a dragon stormed through it) are tasks that keep him busy. When Bilbo finds himself exhausted by the days events he heads to their room — his room — the one that he’s sharing with Thorin. More often than not Bilbo will bathe to clear the muck and dust that’s gathered over the course of the day and fall asleep when he climbs between the sheets of the bed, listening to Thorin talk about his life in the Blue Mountains. Thorin’s voice was so very deep.

“Are you ready to smash some Orc skulls, cousin? It’s been a while since we fought together!”

Dain’s enthusiasm for the coming fight makes Bilbo queasy, but Thorin accepts the clap on his shoulder from Dain and snorts. 

“It has, hasn’t it? I daresay the battle will be all the more satisfying now we have reclaimed Erebor. I shall not let a single Orc step inside these halls now we have them back, and if they do, it will only be because we have all been slain—“

“I should think not!” The words are out of his mouth before he can moderate the volume or the tone of them. His voice echoes high and shrill about the cavernous halls of Erebor and Bilbo knows that, even without looking, everyone present has stopped work to observe. Bilbo’s cheeks turn bright red but he ignores the heat and settles for a glare that would make Lobelia put back all his spoons and apologise for the trouble. “Not without some proper armour at least.” Bilbo clears his throat and fights back the urge to put his cold hands on his flaming cheeks. “The armour you wore before is not making an appearance I assure you — Fili told me Gold is a lot more maleable than other metals and since I plan on all of us sticking around to see Erebor into a proper home again you will pick something out that’s more suitable. I’d make you some myself if I knew how!”

Thorin looks like a rabbit caught in the sights of a wolf at the statement though his face positively _flames_ when Dain simply roars with laughter and rumbles something quickly in Khuzdul.

Bilbo wishes he knew what Dain had said to make Thorin turn so red.

 


	4. After The Battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When the muse hits you must comply.   
> Finished this chapter in about an hour and a half. Super quick. Hope you like it!

There are few ways that could unite so many, in so little time, than those of bonds forged in battle. Slaying Orcs, Goblins, protecting new allies and friends was perhaps one of the best ways for the Elves, Men and Dwarves to get along. It was not Bilbo’s preferred method, but he couldn’t deny that it worked. 

That wasn’t to say that he enjoyed the pain in his ribs whenever he breathed…or coughed…or moved, but there was a certain satisfaction from having _survived_ that was quite heady. His friends were alive and there were minimal losses on their side, especially since Gandalf had arrived (in his usual timely manner) with the eagles, Beorn, Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel. The latter had both brought along their own forces until they were quite well matched with what had seemed an overwhelming tide of enemies bearing down on them. 

Bilbo was of course quite in awe of Lady Galadriel. He wondered whether they should have even bothered with armour and just asked her politely if _she_ would like to deal with them. Galadriel had entered the battlefield in shining armour and crown, and with a single wave of her hand made a substantial crater in the centre of the Orc forces. They had scattered, screeching and cursing, confused from where the assault had come. The ensuing confusion allowed the Men, Elves and Dwarves much easier pickings while select archers stationed up high picked off any who would escape. The goblins had enough sense to steer well clear of her, though thinking the Dwarves would be an easier target was a mistake they would not live to regret.

It seemed the battle had both started, and finished, in an instant. All around them lay the bodies of their enemies and sometimes, though thankfully few and far between, those of their allies. As the wounded were tended to, others combed the battlefield for men, elves and Dwarves so they could be brought back and prepared for burial. With the mountain theirs once more, there was time and space to tend to the injured. Bilbo was just glad, and thanked the creators again, that all of his friends had survived. Well that was not to say they hadn’t _tried_. 

Thorin had tested his patience on a number of occasions, charging off after Azog the way he had with his nephews in tow. Bloody idiots. Thankfully Bilbo had been in charge of his wits, a substantial force he picked up along the way, and a certain Mithril coat. Once suitably equipped he had rather dashingly thrown himself in front of Azog’s blade in order to save Thorin from being skewered while the rest of his force had made their way to save the princes from certain doom. Azog had then met his own fate as Thorin had shifted out beneath Bilbo with a roar and stabbed the Orc through the heart. Reeling from the pain of his injuries Thorin had collapsed beside him as Bilbo lay winded. He was _not_ in fact gasping his last as Thorin had thought, but attempting to get his breath back and try not to pass out from the pain. His ribs throbbed in response. Just because Mithril was practically puncture proof didn’t mean that the _pressure_ wouldn’t do him in first. Not that he would change his actions. Thorin was only in bed with ‘minor’ wounds (for a Dwarf) and was set to make a full recovery. His nephews on the other hand would likely live to see their mother return but no further. He was sure Dis would have a thing to say (or several) about marching off alone into unknown caverns where multiple Orcs and Goblins may or may not lay in wait.

“There you are, Your Grace!”

Bilbo couldn’t hold back a groan. Unfortunately Tauriel took it as a sign of pain rather than frustration. With her, came his two assigned guards. A gift from Dain until Thorin could assign his own from the Blue Mountains.

“Oh are you in much pain? I can get you something for it if you’ll just come with—“

Bilbo shrugged off the hands of the well meaning elf, gritting his teeth when it jarred his ribs, and said “No thank you, I’m quite alright!” He’d just managed to slip away — how did they always find him? Was a bit of peace too much to ask? “I have business to attend to if you don’t mind, I’m sure there’s someone else that requires your attention.” 

His two Dwarven guards took up residence behind him like bulky shadows, and as nice as it was having guards watch his every move (it was not), Bilbo would have preferred to be alone. Unfortunately you couldn’t do that when you were the only Hobbit in the camp and current King of Dwarves. He was far too noticeable.

 Bilbo gave his best you-should-listen-to-what-I-say-or-else smile and attempted to step around her but she easily blocked his path.

“Actually,” Tauriel said with a relieved smile, “everyone is doing well. All healing tents are full and they have brought the last of the wounded from the battlefield.”

Bilbo tried her right side. “And what of the supplies? Surely _someone_ is hungry?”

Tauriel blocked him again. _Damn the tall-folk and their long legs!_  

From behind him, Shadow One asked, “Are you hungry, Your Grace?”

“I can fetch some cram if you are, Your Grace.” Shadow Two offered.

_Cram! Why was it always cram…_

“No I am not! What I _am_ is tired of being watched and fussed over like some Faunt after their first fall! I’ll have you know I’m Fifty years old and I will _not_ be—“

“Fifty!” 

Bilbo wished that the ground would open up and swallow him. Dain. Of course. It was always Dain.

“My cousin, the cradle robber!” Dain joked. His loud voice drawing more than one confused look. Tauriel looked a little ill.

“Does your mother know you’re here?” she panicked, looking around as though Belladonna was going to pop out at any moment. 

Bilbo gave her, and Dain, the best glare he could muster. “I would have you know that I am a respectable middle-aged Hobbit, thank you very much— and as for my mother, who would no doubt have tried to come along had she not been with the Green Lady these past twenty years, would have approved of my travels. AND my determination to help. Now if you would both just let me pass—“

_Finally._

Bilbo only managed a few steps before Dain, who was looking far too cheerful considering the new grisly scar that cut across his face, fell into step with him while Tauriel took up a position behind him. Well. Behind his _Shadows_.

“Your Grace.” Dain began in that loud, far too cheery way of his.

“Bilbo. Just call me Bilbo, Dain.” He grumbled, stopping every now and then on his walk through the camp to make sure everyone had what they needed, and if they didn’t, to get it sent to them.  

“Ah of course! We are to be family soon after all!” _What?_ “I was wondering whether you were going to hold of on the coronation or—“

_Of course, Dain meant through succession. It’s not as if I was really going to be joining the family…_

Bilbo accepted a message from a runner, Bard’s son Bain, and thanked him. The boy looked pale but relieved, and a little starry eyed if he wasn’t mistaken. The note was a complete waste of parchment, written to confirm the time and location of his meeting with the Gandalf, Thranduil, Lady Galadriel and Bard concerning supplies and the housing of those displaced by Smaug’s rage. Gold could buy him anything but time and with winter fast approaching they would need to make preparations, even so soon after the battle. 

“Yes?” Bilbo said when Bain hadn’t left. “Are you waiting for a reply? I’m afraid I don’t have any ink…”

Bain flushed bright red, stammered out some sort of reply and hurried away, but whether that was to get quill and ink or respond in a negative and he need not reply, was a complete mystery.

Tauriel chuckled. “I suspect you’ll have a great deal more like that.”

Bilbo frowned. “Whatever do you mean?” 

Dain and Bilbo’s shadows laughed. “The boy’s in awe of you. Durin knows the tale will be told over an’ over. One o’ the boldest proposals I’ve ever seen and believe me, when I proposed to my wife I’d thought _I’d_ been bold. There’d been a bit of a scandal you see—“

“I’m sorry,” Bilbo interrupted, “but you’ve lost me.”

“Your proposal.” His shadows explained. Which…explained nothing really.

Bilbo was utterly confused. He looked to Tauriel who, he hoped, could answer more clearly. Unfortunately she looked a little dazed herself. “It is a risky move considering either one of you could die. Even for elves it was very romantic, Your Grace.”

“That does not help!” Bilbo said, he was beginning to get a little cross now. If they kept it up much longer he might just call it a day and return to his tent. He would have gone to his room but there was little point without…well, he was needed outside and if there was an emergency no one wanted to rush up a dozen sets of stairs to fetch him and then run all the way down again. By the time they did that the crisis would likely be over!

“Modest! I like it!” Dain laughed, “I suppose one of you has to be. When you marry Thorin you’ll find out he’s as vain as a tomcat and just as proud — as if you didn’t know it already of course!” 

Later, Bilbo let everyone assume that Dain’s slap to the back had been too hard and made him pass out from the pain, and not because he had actually fainted dead away. 

Married? Him? There must have been some mistake.

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to have around 3 chapters and will be updated as and when I have time. I'm gradually working my way through my list of prompts FIX-IT AUS FOR ALL <3
> 
> I'm on tumblr (fatynthemachine.tumblr.com) where I post art and Hobbit things, so you can come and send me asks/prompts/headcannons, I may just write them down or post a drabble in response :) Come talk to me, I don't bite promise ^.^


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